The Mark Beneath the Mountain

Chapter 13: The Mark Beneath the Mountain

The wind howled through the northern cliffs, carrying with it a song Kael hadn't heard since he was a child. It was a deep and mournful melody that rose from the bones of the mountains—an ancestral lament passed down through wolfblood. He stood at the edge of the path to the Moonspire, a jagged peak that legends claimed once housed the ancient Seers of the Lycan throne.

He had come alone, seeking answers beyond his pack and his pride. Behind him, the whispers of discontent among his warriors were growing too loud to ignore. Ahead, only silence waited.

His paws crunched through old frost as he climbed in his wolf form, silver eyes fixed on the sky. The peak shimmered with light from the full moon, and when he reached the summit, he shifted into his human form, bare feet pressing against sacred stone.

There, beneath a crumbling arch covered in runes, he found it.

A relic. A broken disc of silver and obsidian, inscribed with a crescent moon and flame interlocked. As his fingers brushed it, a jolt of power surged through him—visions of battles long past, of witches and wolves standing side by side, of a great betrayal that shattered their alliance.

Kael fell to his knees.

Blood. Fire. A scream he recognized as Selene's, echoing across time.

He gasped, clutching his chest, as a blinding light surrounded him. Then darkness.

Selene awakened with a cry in her bed, her skin burning and eyes wide. The mark on her forehead—the crescent moon given to her by prophecy—flared hot and then dimmed. She had felt him. Not just his presence, but his pain.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and summoned a flame in her palm. It hovered like a loyal firefly, illuminating her path as she stepped barefoot into the night.

Down in the archives of Emberlight, she found Alira waiting for her.

"You felt him," Alira said, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"I saw the past," Selene breathed. "I saw wolves and witches united. What broke us wasn't hatred—it was something darker."

Alira's gaze turned solemn. "Something that sleeps beneath. And now... stirs."

Selene's breath caught. "Kael went to the Moonspire."

Alira nodded. "Then the Moon is moving faster than we are."

Kael woke at dawn, the relic clutched in his palm, glowing faintly. He knew, with the certainty of instinct, that Selene would understand what it meant. And that the bond between them was meant not only to challenge the feud, but to rewrite it.

When he returned to the pack, he was met with resistance. Warriors circled, and Dareth stood at the front, arms crossed.

"You've been dreaming too long," Dareth said. "While you sleep, our enemies grow bolder."

Kael raised the relic. "We are not enemies. Not by fate. We've been lied to."

Laughter rang out. "And you think a witch told you the truth?"

Kael stepped forward, his voice steady. "I think the truth has been buried. And we're all standing on the grave."

Murmurs rippled through the circle. Dareth stepped forward, but Morric appeared beside Kael, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Let the boy speak," Morric growled.

And Kael did. He told them of the Moonspire. Of the relic. Of the visions. Of Selene.

Some were furious. Others, afraid. But among them, something shifted—a crack in the wall of hatred. That night, Kael called a private council of the oldest wolves—those who remembered the old songs, the oldest laws, and the teachings before the feud.

One by one, they told fragments of stories passed down in whispers. A Flame Pact. A Moon Treaty. A prophecy of fire and fang that foretold destruction—or salvation. The relic was proof. And Selene? She was the key.

Selene, standing in the moonlit halls of the Emberlight sanctuary, held her own council. The relic's twin lay buried beneath the oldest flame altar. She unearthed it, feeling the twin pulse in Kael's hands.

Two halves.

One truth.

She opened her grimoire and began to study the ancient runes etched into the silver. She translated what she could, whispering each word aloud. "When fire meets fang beneath a silver sky, the world shall tremble, and fate shall bloom anew."

It was only the beginning.